


without fears, without tears

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Coffee Shops, F/M, It would actually be easier to list what isn’t in this, I’m so sorry for what I’ve done, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Soulmates but is it?, Violence, all of the angst, fairytales - Freeform, what doesn’t this fic have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: "We keep meeting each other. Over and over. We've lived a hundred lifetimes together. We've danced through the streets of Pompeii, inspired Shakespeare, fought monsters and destiny and the New York Public Transit System." He chuckles but his humour is eclipsed by the memories. She holds his hand ever tighter and, for just a moment, they breath together in the corner of the hospital room, basking in the feel of being together until he brings whatever shred of reality he can find crashing down."But whether it takes twenty minutes or twenty years, the same thing always happens - I remember. And every time I remember, I lose you in the worst possible ways. Over and over. And I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired. You always tell me to keep going, to keep trying, but what kind of an existence is this? I can't keep finding and loving and losing you through all of history. How is all of this pain really worth it?"
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 41
Kudos: 53
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	without fears, without tears

**Author's Note:**

> It’s me, back on my bullshit!  
> This was supposed to be my last Spideychelle Week submission as it covers - I kid you not - every single prompt. Clearly it took me a bit longer than anticipated.  
> Special thanks to my darling @michellesbohh who let me treat her like a guinea pig to test out this story. You’re the best and I’m so grateful for you sacrificing your time for this monstrosity.  
> ALSO THE BIGGEST OF LOVE AND APOLOGIES FOR FORGETTING but ‘love is universal’ by youheldyourbreath is what I dreamt this fic could be like. Honestly one of my top five fanfics of all time.  
> Title from "maybe in another life, in another year, in another night, in another hour, we will meet again. Without fears, without tears, Only with love." - Bàñsàl Kàjàl  
> Inspiration from the Lang Leav quote below. How I went from that to this I do not know but know that I’m not sorry.

_I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me - or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile is, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before - in another time, a different place - some other existence.  
_\- Soulmates, Lang Leav

  
“Excuse me, could you tell me where the library is?”

He looks up from his clipboard to see a pair of dark eyes staring at him, curly hair picking up in the breeze. She’s a little taller, wrapped in a jean jacket with her name scribbled on a label, hidden beneath the strap of her bag.

He's staring, but he can't help it.

Something about her is… It's _so_ -

“Hello? Library?”

He shakes his head, pointing west. “Sorry - um, yeah. You wanna head down there, then you’re gonna see a red brick building to your left. Walk past that and the library’s on your right.”

“Thanks.” She’s walking away, and for some reason his feet follow.

“Hey, uh…” She turns and he smiles nervously. “You need a student ID to get in.”

She holds up the thin piece of plastic between two fingers. He can just make out the photo of her awkward half-smile, her jacket collar wonky in the same way it is now. “I’m all good.”

“Right, of course. Well, welcome to Harvard! I’ll be here for the rest of the day if you have any questions.”

She smirks at him, and it makes his heart beat quicker. “Yeah, I have a question. How are you even a student here? You look like a twelve year old.”

He frowns. “I’m a sophomore.”

”In high school?” 

Her lips twitch, and he realises she’s messing with him. “Well I _am_ a genius. Getting into Harvard at eleven years old wasn’t difficult.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He laughs. “Okay so I wasn’t eleven. But I was seventeen.”

“Interesting.” She quirks an eyebrow, crosses her arms. “So what do you get for volunteering?”

“Delightful conversations with the next set of bright minds honoured to attend such an establishment.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

Hair blows over her face and he's overcome with the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.

Then he wants to smack himself because _he’s known her all of two minutes_.

“Okay fine. I get extra credit and a free lunch.”

“Ah.” She’s smiling again and he feels giddy. “Well, now that mystery is solved, I guess I better get going.”

He nods, she nods, and then she chuckles and makes to walk away.

It feels wrong to see her go somehow, like they're meant for more than just this. They've only shared a handful of words but he already knows that she's funny and smart and witty, with a smile that makes him lose track of his thoughts.

Her steps are lighter this time and his heart leaps at the idea that he's the reason for it.

Maybe she feels it too. Maybe this is the Moment, just like in all the tales his Mom had spun to him as a child, gazing adoringly at the family photo beside his bed. Maybe this is the story he will tell to a child with dark eyes and wild hair and a knowing smile.

 _You always miss the shots you don't take,_ his Dad always tells him, _and if I hadn't taken that one that day, we never would have discovered you_.

“Wait!” He jogs to catch up with her. “I know this is kinda weird and out there but would you… would you wanna join me? For that free lunch?”

She bites her lip. “That depends. Is my lunch also free?”

“Are you only interested in the free lunch?”

“Obviously. I may have only been a college student for twenty minutes, but we have to do whatever we can for free food.”

He laughs, a belly laugh that tingles in his toes. Her eyes seem to twinkle at the sound.

“Okay, it’s a deal. You get free food and I get to enjoy your company.” He’s still smiling as he holds out his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

She regards his hand for a moment. “Nice to meet you, Peter.”

She reaches out and grips his hand firmly.

They shake.

“I’m -“

“Wait.”

He scratches his head, pulling away from her.

“Have we met before?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The rain is particularly heavy this morning, so when he crashes through the door of his local coffee shop he's already drenched, his umbrella forgotten at home. The morning rush probably finished about half hour ago, so the tables are relatively quiet - surely a bad sign, since he'd overslept and is now running late to meet his study group - but he'd been up late the night before and he's not going to get anywhere without a high dose of caffeine, so the further delay is worth it for everyone involved, really.

He shakes the excess rain from his hair and heads towards the counter, eyeing the homemade delicacies behind the glass as he waits his turn. The coffee shop is a small business, still clinging to life in a bustling city taken over by franchises. He'd discovered it about a year ago by following the smell of good coffee, but he's returned every day since for the baked goods lovingly made by hand.

He's loved everything he's tried - and he's tried everything - so much so that the owner, an older woman named Daisy, has taken to using him as her guinea pig. It's a role he has filled with far too much enthusiasm for a struggling journalism major with very little disposable income.

Within minutes it's his turn to order, and he looks up from the cranberry muffins to be greeted by a new face; she's tall, untamed hair pulled back haphazardly, sharp brown eyes flickering over to him as she twirls a marker between slender fingers stained with constellations of paint.

"Can I help you?" she asks when he continues to stare.

"Uh, hi, yes, sorry. I was expecting Liz."

The girl taps out a quick pattern with her free hand, clearly impatient. "She's out sick today."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." He cringes at himself, running a hand through the wet curls clinging to his forehead. "Sorry. Again. I'll have a latte please, two shots."

"Name?"

"Oh, uh, here." He pulls his travel mug out of his backpack, offering it to her. Her expression softens as she takes it, setting up the coffee machine in that quick easy manner he could only dream of managing. As the milk heats, she juts her chin out towards the display.

"Did you want anything else?"

"Oh!" He swipes at the raindrop threatening to run into his eye. "Um, Liz usually has it ready. Daisy might have mentioned it, she usually -"

The girl stops ringing him up to look back to him with surprise, like she's finally seeing him properly for the first time. "You're Peter?"

He feels his cheeks flush. "Yes, that's me. Hi."

She nods to herself, turns back to the coffee machine and calls, "Mom! He's here!"

Before he can comment, there's a flurry of activity from the back room and Daisy stumbles through the door, the mega-watt smile he's so fond of lighting up the space, smudges of flour and cocoa across her cheek. "Peter!" she says in delight. "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming in today."

"And miss seeing my favourite girl? Never." He grins at her and Daisy waves off his compliment with a cheeky laugh.

"What did I tell you about that, hey? I'll be passing it on to your Aunt if you keep on."

Peter leans an elbow on the counter, his chin resting on his fist. "Book club tonight, right? Are you bringing shortbread with you again? Because I'll definitely be stopping by if you are.”

"I suppose I can whip up a quick batch before heading over, but only if you bring me good news about that paper of yours. Stop leaving it all to the night before, mister." Daisy wags her finger at him and reaches beneath the till, pulls out a delicately wrapped package. She places it in front of him with a flourish. "Cinnamon and raisin bagels today."

He picks it up and breathes in the delicious aromas as the barista comes back with his coffee. "I can already tell they're amazing."

Daisy wraps an arm around her warmly, who gives him a tight lipped smile. "Peter, I'm so happy you've finally met my daughter. Bless her heart, helping me out in a pinch."

He blushes. Daisy has spent months gushing about how perfect a couple the two of them would make and he's been agreeing in that way you do when you never think you'll actually have to meet the person. But now she's here, in front of him, and even before knowing who she is, she was making him a little breathless.

Now, he's reconsidering his stance on fate.

"Yes, we were just, you know, meeting… Talking… Chatting." Peter takes a long sip of his too hot drink, letting the burning of his tongue excuse the awful levels of redness in his cheeks.

Saved - quite literally - by the bell, a customer enters before he can continue making a fool of himself.

"Wow, that got awkward fast. Uh, Mom, don't you think you should be getting back? Don't want to waste anymore time now you've got shortbread to make."

The girl finishes ringing him up, gaze firmly on the screen, and Daisy raises her eyebrows suggestively to Peter, pointing with little to no subtlety towards her daughter before heading into the back room. Peter scrambles to pull out his wallet, digging around for change to pay and praying for the ground to swallow him up, putting an end to the weird tension now filling the space between them.

She accepts the money he thrusts into her hand, taking her time putting it away until the customer behind him coughs impatiently. She glares at him before turning back to Peter, that awkward smile back as he puts the change she gives him into the tip jar.

"Sorry about my mom," she says in a rush of breath. "She's a little… Overbearing."

"I think she's great," he says honestly. "Coming here is the highlight of my day."

She tilts her head. "You actually mean that, don't you?" He nods and she smirks. "Lame."

"What can I say; she's a fantastic baker."

"She's also determined to set us up, and now we've actually met she'll be even worse. Maybe we should just go out to get her to stop going on about -" She snaps her jaw shut, eyes wide. He grins, unable to hold it back.

"I wouldn't say 'no' to that idea." He shrugs when her panic melts into confusion. "Purely to get her to stop, of course."

He sees it click, butterflies so strong in his gut they might have created a tornado. "Of course," she echoes. "I could probably squeeze you into my schedule." 

"Well, my schedule is definitely more packed, so this could be tricky. Might need to block out some time just to find a time we're both free."

She leans forward, challenge sparkling in her brown eyes. "What about tonight?"

He taps his chin, over acting his pondering. "I don't know… Could be tricky."

"After that, it's probably two weeks from now."

No way he's waiting that long to see her again. "I can be free right this very second."

She laughs, a sound that vibrates through his bones, sets every nerve-ending on fire. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

" _I_ sure have somewhere to be," the man waiting behind them barks, and they both snap out of the moment to look at him.

She doesn't meet his gaze again and he's leaning so far over the counter now that he can count every eyelash, so eager to be near her.

"I'll meet you here at 6, tonight?" he says, pulling every shred of courage he can find to force the question out. She glances up at him and bites her lip, which only succeeds in making him think about what it would be like to kiss her.

"It's a date," she whispers, then she's turning her attention to the angry customer, her words clipped at his bad attitude. Flying high on the knowledge that he gets to take her out tonight, he grabs his breakfast and makes his way to the exit with a skip in his step.

Only when he gets there does he realise the one thing he forgot to ask.

When he turns back, he catches sight of the handwritten name badge on her apron, the sharp corners, the smooth glide of the marker, forming the unmistakable letter M.  
  


* * *

  
  


"I don't think so, I'm pretty good with faces." Her humour fades to a frown. "Peter?"

He shakes away the fog clouding his mind, scratching at his forehead as he looks back to her. "Sorry, that was… I've probably been standing out here too long."

The flicker of concern morphs into a gentle smile. "Well fortunately I've heard that meals often include some kind of liquid refreshment."

"I have also heard this!" He laughs and her smile grows. "I've just got to tell my team leader I'm taking my lunch break, but I'll meet you here in a couple of minutes?"

She nods. "Sounds great."

"Awesome." He walks backward, reluctant to tear his eyes from her, until a near-collision has her snorting with laughter and him blushing furiously.

He drops off his clipboard and gets waved away when he mentions lunch, so he grabs his meal token and ups his pace to make it back. She's still there, leaning against a bollard separating the path from the flowerbed, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

" _Peter_."

He looks around the crowds of people, looking for someone.

The people continue on their journeys, no one paying particular attention to him.

"You ready?" She nods and motions for him to lead the way, a nervous silence settling over them.

* * *

Okay. So he's sulking.

Peter is 17 years old and _sulking_ , but can you blame him?

He just lost the acadec final to the answer 'Groundhog Day'.

Of all the things…

The participating teams are all mingling in a stretch of corridor reserved for them by the hotel, and even though they lost, the rest of his team are laughing it up with the enemy like this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him in his entire life.

_Groundhog Day._

It's Uncle Ben's favourite movie!

"You really are a sore loser, huh?"

He doesn't spare a glance at the girl leaning against the wall beside him. He knows just from her voice exactly who she is. "Please. You got lucky."

"There was nothing ‘lucky‘ about it. I've had to watch that movie over a hundred times."

He slouches further against the wall, her retort stinging more than he wants to admit.

“Wow. I think you're actually pouting!" A finger pokes his chin. "Aw, come on, Parker. Are you really not going to congratulate me?"

"I would, but you left something in my back when you skipped out on us."

She scoffs, throwing back her head to finish the last dregs of her drink. "Are you still mad about that? You know I didn't have any control over my mother moving me across the country."

He bites his tongue, trying to swallow down the accusations he wants to throw at her. As bitter as he is, he doesn't want to ruin her big moment.

Even now.

Even after a year of nothing.

The silence between them drags, until she spits out, "Is this it, then? You're really not going to talk to me?"

He presses his lips together, chest clenching at the rawness of her voice.

"After everything, you're giving me the cold shoulder?"

He ducks his head down but he still hears the tremble of her breath.

"You're pathetic, Parker."

And she walks away.

He doesn't see her for the next hour and he doesn't go looking. He forces himself to join in boring conversations so people will at least remember he participated, and then he slips out to head back to his room.

He's not in the mood to party.

The door closes quietly behind him and he takes a moment to just breathe, enjoying the quiet of his empty suite. He tugs off his uniform and throws it on top of his suitcase, pulling out an old t-shirt to put on instead. He toes off his shoes as he searches for the remote for TV, and when a sharp knock on his door echoes through the room, he stands perfectly still.

"I know you're in there, Parker."

He groans silently.

Of course it's her.

She pounds her fist against the door repetitively until he finally throws it open, glaring at her as she glares back, a flush across her cheeks.

"When did you become so boring?" She shoves past him and looks around his room. "You never used to bail early on parties."

And it's true, but it was always because of her. He can't really tell her that, so he asks, "What do you want?"

"If you're going to stick with this whole thing of acting like a baby, then I have some things to say before we never see each other again."

He rests on the edge of the dresser, arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Of course you do."

She whirls around from her position by the bed, her eyes alight with an anger he's never seen on her before. "Excuse me?"

"You always have something to say when it suits you! I'd swear you're in love with the sound of your own voice, except you also have this amazing ability of saying nothing at all!"

"Oh my _God_ , are you still upset about that? We were eleven years -"

"We were thirteen, and it took me _weeks_ to find the courage -"

She storms towards him. "No, Peter. You ran away before I could say anything back and then you went to the movies with Liz! What was I supposed to do?"

"This is my point! You don't _do_ anything!" He throws his hands up in the air and tugs at his hair. "You've been gone for sixteen months and you -"

"I didn't have a choice, I've told you this a hundred times -"

" _You abandoned me!"_

Like a switch has been flipped, she goes from lost in a rage to astounded, lowering her arms and her volume as she says, "I didn't abandon you, Peter. I just stopped trying so hard."

Peter wipes at the tears clinging to his eyelashes, diverting his gaze to the night sky visible through the window. "We made a promise. You broke it."

"You broke it first." She steps closer, near enough that he could reach out and touch her. "You started lying to me."

Peter sighs dejectedly. "I know."

"Lying goes against the pact. It was even written in red crayon." He turns to her and she has the slightest smile on her face, like she can picture the crumpled piece of paper from their childhood as well as he can. "I never wanted to leave you, Peter. Especially after -"

"Don't say it," he begs, and she nods, still understanding him perfectly.

Maybe not perfectly. Not anymore.

Something in her gaze changes, like her eyes have cleared after years of rain. Her chapped lips twitch into a sad smile. He aches to know what's running through that impossible mind of hers.

"You were my best friend, and I miss you." She touches his arm and he feels it, the way his skin crackles with exuberance at her proximity. After a year he'd hoped it would fade but it's still there - like no time has passed, like they hadn't betrayed each other the moment it got tough. Instead, she's there with that twinkle in her eye that he's been unable to resist since she dusted off his crumpled cardboard robot and became the girl next door; the worst of romcom tropes, yet he'd fallen for it without any possibility of a safe landing.

His chest hurts and his head is cloudy with emotional whiplash, so he can't help but whisper, "You were more than that."

He locks their gaze so she knows he means it - because, like she'd said, if this is it for them, he has things he wants to say - and she exhales wistfully, closing the distance between them until he has to look up at her.

"Were?" Her fingers brush over his cheek. "Or are?"

He forgets how to function. Did she just…

"Present tense," he croaks. When she begins to smile, his confidence grows and suddenly his confession is pouring out of him. "I think it'll always be present tense. I mean, it's been you since I learned that girls don't have cooties; I don't know how to _not_ feel this way about you, M-"

She cuts him off by pressing their lips together in a messy, fumbling, perfect kiss.

* * *

"I don't usually do this, you know. Like, ever." When he looks at her questioningly, she elaborates. "Agree to get lunch with a stranger on my first day of college, blow off my intention to check out the campus."

"Ah, right. I mean, I don't either." He turns left, takes his time to elongate their time together. "My first day involved a lot of panic and confusion and tears - from my aunt, of course, when she left. And then me, after she was gone and I was by myself."

She nudges him with her elbow when he ducks his head bashfully. "My Dad cried the whole way here. Had to pull over so my Mom could take over driving."

The dining hall looms in front of them and he takes careful note of the gentle uptick to her lips when she mentions her Dad. She's fidgeting with her fingers and he resists the desire to take them into his own sweaty hands, reminding himself over and over that he needs to play this cool if he wants this to end the way he hopes.

(Never. He wants this - _them_ \- to never have to know the feeling of the end.)

"Peter?"

"Yeah?" He glances up to see her doing the same, confusion flitting across her face until it disappears just as quickly. He blushes furiously, searching desperately for something to say. "So, uh… Which dorm are you based in?"

She ducks under his arm as he holds a door open for her. "I'm actually staying just off campus. Moved in yesterday so I could get an early start today."

"Wow, that is… That is some dedication." They walk into the cafeteria and head towards the service area. "Definitely Harvard material."

"How can you tell?" She runs her fingers over the sandwich selections before making her choice - vegetarian, he notes - and waits for him to decide.

"Apart from being very eager," he jokes, checking to see if she smiles, which she does. "You seem really smart; ready to learn."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you calling me a nerd?"

She's bantering, he realises, and he opens his mouth to spit back a retort when he's hit by that same feeling as before. Familiarity; like they've done this before.

Like he already knows her.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The church is quiet, twenty four pairs of eyes fixed on the proceedings. Most of the front row's eyes are full of tears. The scent of roses and baby's breath fills the room and the noise of the city is drowned out by the minister as he reads out the beginnings of the service.

He looks at his bride, so breath-taking in her mother's satin and lace gown, clutching his hands so tight so he can feel the press of her engagement ring; the ring he'd spent weeks choosing, the ring he'd given to her in their favourite place, the ring that was a promise, no matter what.

All he can think about is his shoes pinching. He'll probably have a few blisters before the day is over.

"Now, for the vows." An excited murmur ripples through the crowd. His best man steps forward with the rings.

"Told you I wouldn't forget them," he jokes, and she laughs in that way he's always admired, with her nose scrunched up and her sparkling eyes half closed.

Instead of taking the rings, he looks at the people that have gathered here for him; for her; for them. The people that love them most are all under one roof, ready to celebrate.

All except one.

"Baby?" Something squeezes his hand, and he tears himself away and back to his bride, her smile slowly fading. "Everything okay?"

"No." He steps back, runs his hands over his face. "This isn't…"

"Peter, what are you doing?" His best man grips his shoulder, waving to the suddenly uneasy guests with a forced grin. "You're doing this _now_?"

He looks into the blue eyes of his bride and realises they should be brown. He looks at her intricate updo and wishes it was untamed. He looks at her and knows it's the wrong _her_ , and that he's spent years trying to kid himself; as though remembering why he had once loved her would somehow change what he's known since that first night in the med tent, when he'd woken up and seen her fixing his bandages, scolding the man in the next bay for ruining her hard work.

"Peter, what's going on?" His bride has tears spoiling her perfectly applied mascara because he's spoiling this perfect day for her - the one she's waited years for; through a whole world war. It's so wrong but so is this; marrying her when he's never going to be able to keep these promises, not when he'll always be asking, what if?

"I'm so sorry, I can't - I can't do this."

And he runs.

He doesn't listen to the upheaval he leaves in his wake; the yells of his name; the pleading; the crash of the doors as he leaves everyone behind. He runs until his still healing scars burn with the effort, ripping off the stupid tie, striping himself of his service jacket and the too-tight shoes. He runs until he can hail a taxi, barking out the address he knows too well, her letters so dearly treasured above all else.

The journey is quick, and sooner than he expects he's pulling up in front of the building, blindly throwing any cash he has in his pockets at the driver. He jumps out and races for the entrance, taking the stairs two at a time until he reaches the eleventh floor.

There, at the end of the hallway, is a door painted a vibrant red.

He's no more than a dozen paces away, but he hesitates. Just for a moment.

He's just blown up most of his life, but he might be about to destroy the most important part of it.

He has to do this.

He needs to know.

His fist pounds against the door. He tries to drag enough oxygen into his lungs so that he might be able to find the words, hopefully, if she lets him.

The door opens.

And she's there - her face blotchy and puffy, wearing a crumpled dress and apron, her hair loose, everything about her a mess.

And he loves her.

She looks him up and down. "You look ridiculous."

He laughs breathlessly even though none of this is amusing.

"Didn't you have something important to do today?" she continues, her tone indifferent despite the hidden pain burning in her beautiful eyes. He shrugs helplessly, exhaling heavily.

"You weren't there," he says. "I'm not getting married without you."

She looks torn, clinging to the door frame for support. Fresh tears fill her eyes as she replies, "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't."

He offers her a weak smile, cupping her warm cheek and brushing the moisture away with his thumb. "Neither could I."

She takes in his attire again, her eyebrows furrowing. "What are you… I don't understand."

This is it. This is the moment he can't go back; it's all or nothing and it should terrify him, but he's looking at her and he's just impatient. He wants the moment after, and every one after that if she's right there beside him. He wants the rest of his life to finally start, when he can put the violent torment of the last few years behind them and be normal with the woman of his dreams.

The future he's imagined for them shines just behind her furrowed brow.

He dances his final step.

"I was standing there in front of everyone, about to say my vows, but then I looked at all those faces and… I couldn't see you. And I realised that - more than anyone else - I wanted to see you. No, I - I want _you_. I want you to be the one I'm saying my vows to. I want your finger to be the one I put a ring on. I want you… I've always wanted you, since the moment we met. I'm so desperately in love with you, and I need you to know -"

"You love me?" She stares at him wondrously, curling her fingers into his shirt, tugging him closer. He smiles and goes willingly until he can feel her body heat against his skin, something that settles the chaos in his chest into a tide-less ocean. He remembers the stolen moments when she had been this close, how they risked everything just for her hand to hold onto his, war raging around them but something beautiful blooming right there in the middle of it.

"I do." Their noses brush as he looks into her dark eyes. "I think - I hope - that you love me too."

"Yes, of course I do, you idiot." And then they're laughing, the weight of their confessions lifting until they're free, finally, after all these years on the same page.

"I think this is the part where we kiss."

She surges forward to close the last of the space between them, and then she's kissing him, his soul soaring as their mouths move together. She tastes like sugar and her favourite tea and home, and he could kiss her forever like this, her fingers in his hair, tracing the shell of his ear, keeping him close.

Only when air becomes a necessity do they break away, his hands exploring the soft skin at the back of her neck. "Peter," she says as she sighs. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I know. I feel like I need you to pinch me to prove I'm not dreaming." He feels a sharp quick pain and he squeaks. "Most people go for the arm, not the ass."

She shrugs one shoulder, kisses him softly. "I'd apologise but I wouldn't mean it."

He grins. "You're lucky I love you."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start getting all cheesy on me."

"We've met, right?" She smiles fondly, leaning in to press a searing kiss against his mumbling, her teeth grazing his lip so he groans. "Em, that's not fair."

"That I have a whole new way to stop you talking?" Her quick fingers slip into the gaps between his shirt buttons, her touch scalding against his bare skin. "And 'Em', really? You're going to have to lose the wartime nickname if you want to get further than the threshold."

"Oh, okay, I'm so sorry Nurse J-"

She silences him with her tongue licking into his mouth, pulling until they fall into her apartment in a tangle of limbs.

* * *

  
  


He grabs the first sandwich he comes into contact with. "Are you saying being a nerd is a bad thing?"

She tilts her head as she thinks, wandering over to the instant coffee machine. "Not in most cases."

He keeps a safe distance away, watching her curiously. She doesn't seem like the kind of girl he'd be able to forget. Yet there's something tugging at the corners of his mind, something growing in insistence the more he tries to ignore it.

Once she's gotten what he now sees is hot chocolate, she snatches a snack pack of cookies and turns to him expectantly, waiting. Again, he reaches blindly for whatever he touches first, grabbing a sparkling water and heading to the cashier. He hands over his meal token and the money for her lunch selection, before heading over to an empty table, sitting on opposite sides.

If not for the everyday bustling of the large space, this might actually feel like a date, and even though it hasn't even been an hour since they met, the thought of being on a date with her sending a thrill down his spine.

Except the thrill, too, is familiar. And he doesn't understand why.

"I have the craziest feeling," he admits as he unwraps his sandwich. "Are you sure we haven't met somewhere before?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Dude! You ready?!"

Peter turns from his conversation with Abe as his best friend curls an arm around his shoulders, the one beer his aunt had agreed to them having clutched in his other hand like it’s at least his fifth.

He sighs heavily. "It's not that big a deal. I probably won't even -"

"Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter." Ned shakes his head like he's so much wiser, despite being three months younger. "You're about to turn eighteen, and that means that something's about to appear over your heart, something very important -"

"- I know what's going to happen -"

"- because you're finally going to find out the name of your soulmate! That's so crazy! We're finally old enough!"

He tugs his friend away from the crowd to a quieter area of the apartment. "Yes, I know all of that. But it's not even - It doesn't really mean anything, right? It's just a name, a first name at that so really, it could be anyone. There's a ton of possibilities."

Ned groans, cutting through his last words. "Is this still because of… You know who? I don't know why you're so nervous about it - you're finally going to get your answer! In, like, five minutes!"

"I don't know if I _want_ my answer. It could really muck everything up and we just got to this good place where I think she might -"

"Who might what?"

Peter and Ned both flail at the surprise guest appearance to their hushed conversation, turning to see a familiar face give them a familiar look of _why am I friends with you weirdos._

"Oh, hi, Em. Didn't see you there." Peter gives her a weak smile and her eyes dart suspiciously between the two of them.

"You talking about your mark?" She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and turning her attention to the people milling about his home, his aunt rushing from group to group to check everyone is okay. "I've told you both a hundred times that it's stupid. Just because you're eighteen now doesn't mean you suddenly have to be consumed by this predetermined person that you'll probably never find anyway. And predetermined by what, exactly? I don't need someone's name branded into my skin, like I'm suddenly their _possession_."

"Exactly!" Peter says triumphantly, holding his hands out towards her like he's presenting the next lot at a raffle.

"You both say that now, but when you get each oth-"

"Wow, hey, dude, is that who I think it is, talking to Betty?"

Ned looks where Peter points and frowns. "She can talk to whoever she likes - oh my god is he feeding her hummus?!"

Once his best friend has been successfully diverted, he realises this has left him alone with the one person he definitely does not want to be alone with right now, and he scrambles for something to say that makes at least a little bit of sense.

"Having fun?" he asks weakly, trying not to cringe when she turns her piercing gaze back to him, a plastic cup dangling between her fingers.

"Are you trying to make small talk with me?"

Peter nods because he's lost the ability to speak.

"I hate small talk." Her eyes narrow, then she relaxes. "Yeah, I am. Your Aunt is pretty cool for doing all this."

"She's great," he says instinctively. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Sure." She takes a small sip from her drink, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the worn carpet. The next time he looks up, her expression morphs from hesitation to determination, and she asks, "Are you really that worried about your mark?"

"A little," he admits, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt - she'd got it for him for Christmas as part of their decathalon Secret Santa, a cartoon beaker telling his angry friend, 'I think you're overreacting.' He'd worn it so often in the last eight months that she's stopped joking about it's frequency and just does that soft smile that makes his heart pound every time she notices it. "I guess it's just…"

She gingerly touches the spot she has stubbornly kept hidden from them for the past two months. "You're anxious about what it's going to say."

"Yeah." He takes a deep breath, forces himself to meet her eye. "I know what I _want_ it to say, and if it doesn't…"

He's interrupted by a sharp burning pain in his chest and he presses a hand over it, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth. Putting down her drink, her hands flutter over his arm, unsure, but before she can decide the pain fades. His features relax and hers tense.

No one had ever bothered to tell him quite how acute that pain would be. Now it's over, he sighs in relief.

For about half a second, at least. Then he remembers what the burning means.

Midnight.

"Looks like you don't have to wait any longer to find out," she says. Her face is guarded, something he's probably mirroring right now as he contemplates pretending it never happened or rushing to the nearest mirror immediately.

Does he really want to know? Will a silly name tattooed into his skin really change what his heart has almost figured out?

"Em, before I do… There's something I want to say," he pleads, decision made. She glances between his eyes and his chest, chewing on her lip in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety.

"You do?" Her voice is breathy and high and he steps instinctively towards her. Words spin around his mind, trying to find a coherent and honest order. He wants to do this right. She deserves for this to be done right - she deserves the universe but maybe, hopefully, she can accept the little world he has to offer.

"It's officially midnight! Have you looked yet?" Ned bounds over, breaking the moment so he can suddenly hear the buzz of conversation around them again, the dull bass of the music playing quietly for the sake of the neighbours.

Peter refuses to look away from her. "Not now, we were trying to -"

"Come on! I wanna see!"

Peter sighs in frustration. "It can wait a minute!"

The lights flicker overhead. Plaster dust falls into her hair and pain blooms in his skull.

Peter closes his eyes and prays.

He just needs a little longer. One more moment before -

When he opens his eyes, Ned is right in his face, nostrils flaring. "What does it say, Peter?"

He flinches away from the darkness distorting the features of his best friend's face. "What are you - I was trying to have a conversation -"

"Tell me what it says!" Ned grabs roughly at the neck of his shirt and pulls so hard that Peter stumbles forward, a pair of arms wrapping around him.

"Get off of me!" He rips out of his best friends grip and finds himself pressed against the wall, a feminine figure stepping in front of him.

"That's _enough_. Leave him alone." She sounds angrier than he's ever heard, something dangerous in her tone that scares him in a completely different way than Ned is right now.

"Tell me, Peter," Ned sneers, his hand shooting out to grasp tightly around her neck, her gasping cry slicing into his skin as his friend squeezes. "Tell me! What's her name?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"No! Stop, please!"_

"What did you say?"

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "It's probably stupid. It just feels like we've met before."

"No, I don't think so. I'm pretty good with faces." She bites into her sandwich, contemplates his question when the confusion doesn't fade from his face. "You mentioned this earlier though, so maybe we have. Where did you grow up?"

"Queens," he says immediately. "You?"

"West coast, mostly. Maybe some kind of event? What extracurriculars did you do?"

"Robotics, decathalon, a few others but I didn't travel for them. And our decathalon team wasn't great. the only place I remember us going was Washington, but I was a sophomore."

She taps her short nails against the table. "I didn't join a decathalon team until I was a sophomore, though I assume you skipped a grade so I'd have missed you."

"Damn. This is gonna bug me." Peter finally tucks into his lunch, twisting the cap off his drink with a satisfying hiss. "So what are you studying here?"

"Peter."

He glances up. "What?"

"I said, I want to be a lawyer. Fight the good fight, change the system."

Peter swallows a bite of his sandwich, distracted as he looks around the room. "That's really cool."

"Yeah, I guess."

He turns his attention back to her, "I know I've only known you for half an hour but I already know you're gonna be great at that."

She softens, puts down her food to scrutinize him for a moment.

"You actually mean that, don't you?" He nods and she smirks. "Lame."

_"Sorry about my mom," she says in a rush of breath. "She's a little… Overbearing."_

_"I think she's great," he says honestly. "Coming here is the highlight of my day."_

_She tilts her head. "You actually mean that, don't you?" He nods and she smirks. "Lame."_

His eyes snap back to her. "What did you just say?"

She frowns. "I said, lame."

"No, but see, you've said that to me before. I'm sure of it."

  
  


* * *

"Thanks again for helping me," she says, the second shoe finally coming off.

"No worries." He shrugs. "Least I could do considering I crashed your road trip."

She watches their friend snore for a moment, fiddling with her fingers. He thinks she might be nervous, which is understandable - they don't really know each other outside of separately being friends with Betty in high school, and now their friend is sprawled out across the bed, so drunk she'd passed out in the taxi back to their room.

He's not even supposed to be here, but the last flight back to New York was cancelled due to the weather and he'd remembered Ned mentioning his girlfriend was carpooling back. He doesn't want to miss spending the holidays with his aunt, so he'd called and asked to tag along and now here they are, trying to figure out how they're both going to sleep.

"I can just take the armchair," he offers, already moving to take off the belongings that he'd left there earlier.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not taking your bed." She takes a deep breath and wrings her hands together. "It's fine. I can just move her over."

She picks up one of Betty's arms and the blonde grunts, lazily lashing out at the intrusion.

"Or… Not."

He glances at the remaining bed, chewing on his lip as he thinks through his words. "We could just -"

"Share?" She smiles and nods. "Yeah. Okay. That's probably the best solution."

"And I mean, we've known each other for years. It's not weird."

She scoffs. "It's a little weird."

They both laugh, still uneasy, but he takes the initiative to start getting ready for bed, a move she mirrors. They bustle about, taking turns in the bathroom before it's no longer avoidable.

He scratches his neck. "Uh, do you… Do you have a side you prefer or…"

"Left," she says immediately, almost diving under the sheets in her haste, her little pyjama shorts fluttering around her slender thighs. Peter climbs in and balances himself as close to the edge as he possibly can.

After a few minutes, he realises Michelle is lying like an Egyptian mummy, she's so tense. He's not much better, his body angled away from her, so he rolls over to face her. The movement makes her peek over and curl her arms over the sheets covering her torso.

From this angle, the night carves out the structure of her cheek and jaw bone, moonlight highlighting the swell of her lips as she breathes softly. It's been well over a year since they left high school, and he's embarrassed that it has taken him this long to really look at her face. She's beautiful, in this ethereal way that has always made him stumble over his thoughts, but he's never seen beyond that and he enjoys the moment to run his eyes over the direction of her eyebrow hairs, the scar that echoes faintly just under her chin, the curl of her eyelashes as she stares resolutely at the ceiling. He knows the moment she realises he's staring because her teeth begin to grind, but otherwise she doesn't object and he doesn't dare to stop.

Something shifts under the neck of her shirt, silver and black reflecting the stars.

He puzzles over what he might be seeing until he realises her chest has long stopped moving.

"How come we were never friends in high school?"

She furrows her eyebrows, glancing at the confusion tugging at his own. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we shared a lot of classes, and we even shared some of the same friends… How did we never hang out?"

"Honestly?"

"If you want."

She turns her head away and grimaces. "You didn't really see me."

His face wrinkles with confusion and she sighs, rolling over to face him properly. "Think about it. We had all those classes, all those people… Did you ever try to talk to me?"

"I'm sure we talked at some point," he hedges, pouring over his memories for a chance to prove her wrong.

"I bet you didn't even know my name."

"Don't say that. Of course I knew your name." Tears suddenly spring in his eyes and he's exhausted, his head pounding. "I always saw you, even before Thanos."

"Thanos?" It's her turn to be confused, hand twitching towards him. "Who's Thanos?"

"Uh…" Peter looks down and his fingers are shaking and he can't breathe properly, like he's being crushed by something he can't see, and -

" _Peter_!" She grabs his shoulders and she looks different - it's still her but it's not her and - "Peter, can you hear me?"

* * *

  
  


"Who are you?" He stumbles out of his seat, rakes his hands through his hair. "What's going on?"

She reaches a hand across the table, her voice soothing. "Peter, you're kinda freaking me out. Can you please sit down?"

"Why do I know you? We've never met before but it's _you_ \- I don't remember - What's happening to me?!"

_"Peter, please, can you hear me?"_

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Can you just touch me already?"

He chuckles into the damp skin of her neck, lets his fingers dance along the waistband of her jeans for a little longer as he grazes his teeth against her pulse point. Her legs curl around his waist to pull him more insistently against her and he sucks against her skin in punishment until she flicks uselessly at his shoulder.

"We promised no marks!"

"Stop being so impatient then," he teases. "We have plenty of time."

She makes a very disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, the vibrations of which distract him just long enough for her to flip them, settling comfortably over his hips. She hums happily, grinding down against him. "Much better."

"I wasn't finished," he says petulantly, but she has that spark in her eye that promises some very satisfying results for their precious time alone. She curls a finger into the neck of his t-shirt, plucking at the fabric.

"Off," she demands, stilling her movements. He tugs the fabric over his head in a remarkably short amount of time, tossing it onto her bedroom floor. He toys with the hem of her shirt, waits patiently for her permission, which she grants with a curt nod. He's much more delicate with it this time, letting it slip gently over her curls and then attempting to fold it in the way she likes best. She rolls her eyes fondly and takes it from him, folding it perfectly in demonstration before throwing it to the floor anyway, busying her hands by smoothing over his chest.

He delights in the feel of their bare skin brushing as she leans down to kiss him, hot and dirty and with the slightest hint of teeth. It means she's desperate, impatient and feeling particularly greedy - something he'll gladly satisfy for her.

He runs his tongue over the roof of her mouth and his hands try to touch all of her skin at once, exploring the small of her back, along her clavicle, the edge of her ribcage. She makes easy work of the fastenings on his jeans but stalls when his touch moves to her breasts, sighing his name into his mouth in the most delicious way.

He slips his hands down to her hips, pushes blindly at the fabric as he licks across her jaw until she does it herself, pulling away from him to peel away the tight jeans. He kicks off his own to save time, making grabby hands towards her when he's done until she gives them something to hold onto, both of them moaning at the decreasing amount of barriers between their ultimate goal.

"Fuck, you feel good," he praises, sitting up to bring their lips clashing back together, groaning as she tugs at his hair.

"Peter," she gasps, his hips snapping up to collide delightfully with hers. "Peter, say my name."

He's too busy tasting the sweat on her skin, feeling her fire slowly consume him, so she tugs on his hair again, forcing him to look at her. Her mouth quirks in a sly smirk, rolling her hips agonisingly slow. "Say my name. I love hearing you say it when I have you like this."

"Fuck, Em, please."

She somehow, impossibly, slows down, her fingertips trailing down his throat. "Peter. I wanna hear you say it."

He shakes his head, presses his forehead to her shoulder. "No."

"Come on, don't be shy," she teases, enjoying herself as she drives him crazy. "I just want to hear you."

A tear leaks onto her skin. "Please, Em. I don't want to."

The moment shatters. She cups his face, tries to catch his gaze but he just turns to kiss the warmth of her palm. She persists and he resists and she speaks in that horribly broken voice he can't bear to hear. "What's wrong? I thought we were having fun."

"We were; we are. I just… I want to stay here with you." He grabs desperately at as much of her as he can, like he can crawl into her skin and just live in there with her forever. "Please, let me stay."

"You're worrying me," she says, her touch still impossibly gentle as she strokes his damp hair. "Tell me what's going on that head of yours."

"Everything," he whispers desperately, pressing kisses to any skin he can find. "All of this… It's in my head. You're not real."

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"This can all be over, just give me the name!"_

"Get away from me!" he roars, upending the table in one sweep of his hands. There's screaming and banging and the ground trembles as he runs from the cafeteria, clutching his head as the pain begins to bloom in his brain, the way it always does, over and over. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

  
  


* * *

There's a girl on a bridge and she's smiling at him softly, happiness spilling over as he starts to laugh.

_I really like you -_

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"Peter!"_

Her voice haunts him, chases him wherever he goes. He presses against his ears like it can block her out, blinded by tears. He trips over something, goes down hard, scrapes his face and his arms as a sob rips through him. He feels her touch as she inevitably finds him, tries to pry the hands from his head so he will be able to see her. "What's happening? What's wrong?! Peter, please!"

"Leave me alone," he begs, " _Please_. Leave me alone!"

  
  


* * *

A touch that has always been comforting grips his hand as the coffin lowers into the ground, the ghost of tears he can't bear to shed burning against his cheeks.

 _What a pity,_ they all say around him, _she was really going to be someone special._

The blood still clings between the swirls of his fingerprints.

_Gone too soon, and in such a violent way. What had she gotten herself into?_

He can't bear to look at the headstone, still polished to perfection. It's not a sight he ever wanted to have to experience.

_I'm so sorry for your loss, Peter._

* * *

  
  


"Peter, please. It's me! Just look at me; I'm here. You're hurting yourself, please just open your eyes!" She sounds so desperate, so _real_ , that he finds himself checking, looking up to see the tears streaming down her face as she wrestles with him. "That's it. Look at me. I'm here, it's over."

"It's over?" he says, letting her pull his hands away, linking their fingers, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his clammy forehead.

"You're safe, Peter. I'm right here."

* * *

  
  


He wakes up on the sand, lungs burning as he coughs up saltwater, bruising and scrapes littering his skin. His throat hurts, like he's been screaming for many days. Glimpses of a terrible storm come back to him, the waves at least ten foot tall, battering his ship and his crew. He remembers rushing, slipping, tumbling into the deadly ocean, a flash of red -

He opens his eyes.

There was a girl.

Patting himself down for injuries, he deems himself healthy enough to move and forces his legs to stand. The beach seems mostly deserted, his home looming large and proud against a clear sky. He looks up and down the shore, searching for… Something. He had seen someone; had felt the touch of delicate hands pull him to safety. Wild blood red curls, a swish of something green.

Where is the girl who had saved his life?

There are prints leading from where he had washed up, down the golden sands, fading into the tides of the sea. He follows them, looking for further proof of the mystery woman, but the prints are strange - not of feet but like something was dragged, marks like fingers peaking around the edges. There's no other sign of life, and he stares out into the calm waters, bedtime stories of what lurks beneath it swirling in his head.

He waits for hours, but eventually he loses faith and returns to the palace, frustrated and confused. When he arrives he finds most of his crew; one dead and one missing. They had washed up with the ship's remains, and they ask him how he had come to be so far away. He does not tell them of the woman, keeps the memory of her dark eyes to himself, so consumed by it that it becomes hidden not in his mind but in his heart.

For weeks, he searches for her.

He walks the length of the shore, over and over, hopes raising with every emerald glint of the sun.

It is not until many months later that she finally appears.

A beautiful woman, lost and scared and brought to the palace for sanctuary, being shown to the guest quarters as he returns from his nightly stroll. His aunt, the Queen's sister, curls protectively around her frame as they walk slowly, and he catches a glimpse of that dark red hair that makes him stumble over his own feet with the effort to turn back, to check if his eyes deceive him.

"Aunt May, wait!" he calls, rushing along the echoing corridor. The two women turn, and he can't help but gape; he knows that face, has _dreamed_ of that face - how is she here now, after months of nothing?

"Your Highness," May greets, "I was just escorting this woman to get some rest; she's had a long day."

Peter's tongue has lost the ability of speech, and May scowls at him, before continuing, "Ma'am, this is Prince Peter; first in line for the throne."

"It's so lovely to meet you." Peter extends a hand and the woman cautiously presses the tips of her fingers into his gentle grip. He bows low and she breathes out a chuckle. The simple sound fills him with more joy that he can ever recall experiencing. "Forgive me, my lady. What is your name?"

She opens her mouth, leaning towards him, but then her jaw snaps shut and she pulls her hand away from his to clutch at her throat. May takes over, her tone gentle but her mouth tight. "I'm afraid she has yet to speak a word so we're not sure. The doctor has seen her and cannot find anything medically wrong to cause such a condition, so has recommended plenty of rest."

May goes to step away and Peter flounders, not yet ready to be away from the woman he's waited so long for. "Perhaps, May, I could escort her there myself. See to it she is comfortable."

His aunt shakes her head crossly. "Peter, that would be most improper. I am perfectly capable of taking her there myself. I'm sure she'll be eager to join us for breakfast tomorrow."

They both look to the woman who looks stunned but nods quickly.

"Right. Of course. My sincerest apologies, ma'am. Rest well, and I will see you tomorrow." Peter inclines his head towards May. "Goodnight, Aunt May."

But he cannot bring himself to rest, too wound up by the idea that she is here - no longer gone, now just minutes away on the other side of the palace. The idea of it consumes him until he finds himself sneaking from his quarters, the night at its heaviest, slinking along the walkways until he's there, facing the closed door that divides them.

He hasn't thought this far ahead, doesn't know what he can possibly say, but his hand decides to work independently of him and he's knocking a gentle rhythm against the carved wood.

There is a long moment of silence before the squeak of the ancient handles announces her presence, her face appearing in the gap as she opens it.

"Ma'am," he whispers, her beauty stunning him again, "Please accept my sincerest apologies for the intrusion, I just -"

He is interrupted by a cold hand wrapping around his wrist and yanking him into the room, closing the door quickly behind him. He catches his balance quickly and turns to see her staring at him with unbridled ferocity, her long hair pulled into a gentle braid, a loose nightgown draped over her figure.

"It's you, isn't it?" he asks desperately, and she steps joyfully closer, "Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me you are my saviour from so long ago."

Her shoulders sag. She glances away towards the window, where the light of the full moon streams onto the cobbled floor. Her head bobs; a confirmation.

Stepping closer, he reaches out hesitantly. "I remember your face, and have dreamed of those captivating eyes. I searched for you. Where did you go?"

She frowns at his hands and paces to the other side of the room, fetching a lit candle from the bedside. Her steps are shaky, like she could collapse at any moment, but the fire that seems to burn in her propels her into every action, so determined in each decision, each movement, each flicker of emotion across her face. Her dark skin glows in the candlelight, somehow even more beautiful than he remembered. She searches the small table there, grabbing a dusty old book from inside before looking around the room.

"I don't understand. What are you searching for?"

She huffs, storming past him to the small desk in the corner.

"Please, let me help. Can you demonstrate it for me?"

She pauses, turns to him in consideration. Putting the candle down, she opens the book and waves her hand over it quickly, her gaze imploring him to understand.

"You want to read it?"

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. She repeats the motion.

"You want to… Write?" She nods eagerly. "You can write?"

Nodding again, he joins her at the desk, opens several drawers until he can pull out a quill and ink, laying them out for her. She touches his hand in appreciation before pulling the lid from the ink pot, tearing a page from the book and slapping it onto the desk surface.

"Will you tell me your name?" he begs. The quill sits awkwardly in her hand as she dips and touches it to the paper, her marks messy as her hand trembles with effort. The light is not enough to read over her shoulder so he waits beside her, bouncing on the balls of his feet to dispel the frenetic energy filling him.

He glances aimlessly at the portraits of his ancestors displayed on the walls, the ever-present scent of the ocean filling the room through the open window. The bed is still made and the soft gown she had been wearing earlier is draped over a chair in the corner of the room. He wonders if it is hers; tries to remember the quality of the fabric, the skill of the design, in case this is any indication of her past.

Cold hands once again grasp him but this time it is his face, pulling his gaze back to her. The way she looks at him is dangerous, like she is scared and determined and capable of more than her slender stature implies. She searches his eyes for something, despair tugging at her brow, until she sighs heavily. He feels captured by her very spirit and wants more than anything to stroke her hair, to touch the skin of her neck that looks so soft in this light, to pull her closer and press their lips together.

"Who are you?" he wonders aloud. Tears fill her eyes and he panics, tries to brush them away, but she turns quickly to her forgotten work and presses the paper insistently into his chest until he takes it.

The handwriting is atrocious but unmistakable.

There, plain as day are three words carved on top of the print, so deep it has torn through the sheet.

_WAKE UP, PETER._

* * *

He opens his eyes with a jolt, squinting against the fluorescent lights above his head.

The first thing he feels is the restraints. The next is the tube lodged down his throat.

Something screeches incessantly in his ear and he tries to breath but he can't and then there's a hundred voices echoing around him, faceless entities filling his vision, a cry and a yell and a stab and a -

***

The first thing he feels is the heaviness weighing his body down.

The next is the warmth of another hand in his.

"Hhhhh." He wheezes out a breath and tries to reach for whatever is covering his face. His blink is too slow, seeing the ceiling tiles one second and a blurry face the next. "H-H-Hel' - Help."

"Peter?" the face is saying, "Peter, can you hear me? You're okay, it's going to take a minute to come around properly."

"No. Please." He shakes his head and manages to get his hand up to his chest, feeling blindly for whatever is smothering him. "Stop. Let me… I can't… I can't - I can't _breathe_."

Another blink and the features of someone important begin to form, her long hair tickling his cheek. "That's it sweetie, easy does it."

He is freed and he gulps down any air he can drag into his lungs. His whole body hurts and he tries to find what he wants to say, tries to push it past the cotton wool mouth and into the world. "Where is… Where is s - Where am -"

"You're in the hospital, and you're going to be okay." May cups his cheek and smiles with watery eyes. "That's all that matters right now."

"No. No!" He tugs and pulls and tries to break free of the sheets and the wires and the tubes. "I need to -"

"Peter, you have to calm down. They can't contain you properly and if you keep -"

"Where is she?"

"- They'll have to sedate you again and I just got you back, please Peter, you need to -"

"Where is she?!"

"No, _please_ , leave him alone! Just give him a minute to adjust! He'll be okay if you just let me talk to -"

* * *

He peers up at her and she looks so real, so like _her_ that he collapses into her arms, lets her hold him as he cries. She strokes his hair, whispering gentle reassurances into his ear, and it's everything he so desperately wants, so tired of this never-ending loop. He presses his nose into her skin, lets her scent waft over him, mango body butter and coconut shampoo and that little something extra that's uniquely hers.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, "I promise I'm trying."

"I know," she says, running her short fingernails over his scalp soothingly. "You're doing so well. Getting better every day."

"No, I'm not - That's not what I mean." He pulls back, takes her face in his hands, fighting against something he can't see. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I couldn’t save the others - I didn’t know then - but I can save _you_. I'm trying so hard for you. When this is over, I'm gonna tell you yourself…I'm gonna tell you properly, I swear."

She frowns. "Over? It is over, Peter! I keep telling you, you're safe now. Everything is okay."

He shakes his head, watches helplessly as she gets further away without ever leaving her arms. "No, you can't trick me anymore. I know, now. I can tell."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can mess with my mind all you want, but you can't take away the pain. And that is what will be your downfall."

* * *

Tony Stark strolls out of the darkness surrounding him, hands stuffed into his pockets as he casually takes in the sight before him. "Hey, kid. You look like crap."

Peter sobs in relief, tries to run to him - finally, after all this time. "Mr Stark?"

"Quite the mess you've gotten yourself into." He sighs. "I thought you were better than this."

Heavy chains and a heavy heart drag him back into the nothing-ness. Tony's face contorts and Peter whimpers, scrambling away as his mentor looms further forward.

"Tell me, Peter," Tony continues conversationally, shadows cutting an evil smile into the decaying skin of his face. "How much are you willing to take to protect your little girlfriend?"

The click of a gun's safety release reverberates around the endless space.

"No, please -"

Tony pulls the trigger and Peter screams.

"We can sit and talk about whatever you want. I know you've got questions. I just need the name to get this guy off my back." Tony bends down and flashes him that wonky smile that Peter so desperately misses. "You seem so determined to do this the hard way, so here we are, kid. Just you and me. Like you've always wanted."

The gun presses against his knee.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in sharply through clenched teeth. "Mr Stark, I don't want -"

"You don't want me?" The voice twists and lowers and snarls out, "What about me?"

He doesn't open his eyes. He can't bear to see the face that voice belongs to.

The bullet tears his kneecap apart and Peter cries out, tearing at his restraints uselessly until he hunches over, hot tears spilling down his face.

His whole body is on fire and he wants it to end.

"Maybe I can help to persuade you."

If this is his life now, he's not interested.

Let it kill him; he doesn't care. He just wants it all to stop.

"Peter?"

He jumps up from his spot on the floor, forgetting about the holes in his legs until they make him crash back down to the ground.

"Get away from her!" he begs, unable to take his eyes away from the knife pressed against her throat. May cries out, terrified, as her own hand presses harder into her skin.

"Peter, please." She sobs and blood leaks from the blade. "Help me, I don't wanna die. Peter, please. Just tell him."

"I can't, you know that." Peter chokes on his tears and tries to reach her anyway. "I have to save her. I have to save you all -"

Two iron hands clamp onto either side of his Aunt's head.

She screams.

"No, please!"

Tony Stark snaps her neck.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"No! Come back! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please…"_

"Peter! Wake the fuck up!"

A hand smacks his cheek and he opens his eyes to see her struggling against his crushing grip of her arms. Immediately, he relinquishes his hold and gasps for breath, leaning as far away as he can until he tumbles to the hard floor, clumsy arms trying to catch himself. Her head pops into view over the side of the bed and frowns as he crawls back as far as he can, ripping at anything that tries to stop him. Blood seeps down his arm but he barely feels it as his back hits a wall and then another, squashing himself down until he's tucked tight into the corner.

"Peter?" She jumps up from the mattress and holds her hands up as she edges towards him, expression guarded. "Peter, everything's okay."

"Stop saying that."

"Saying what?" Her head tilts in confusion. "That everything's okay? But, Peter… It is. You're safe now."

"Stop!" He throws the closest object he can find into her path - a trolley full of various medical instruments that clank against the polished floor - and his hands stick to one of the legs, igniting panic as he tries to let go. "Get off of me!"

Someone rushes into the room and she snaps out an order, turning back to him only to crouch lower until she can sit down a few feet away.

"Peter, I can only imagine how scared and confused you are right now, but you have to calm down. I want to help you. Please, let me help." She nods towards the tangle of fingers and metal. "You always struggle with your stickiness when you're worked up. Take a deep breath and it'll stop."

Her voice is soothing and despite himself, he forces a shaky inhale. She breathes with him, her eyes impossibly gentle as she watches over him. The cartoon printed on her shirt rises and falls and a finger relinquishes its grip on the table leg. A few more breaths and his hand is blissfully empty. He cradles it against his chest and tries to hide the tears that spill down his cheeks.

"Peter." He glances up to see her in the same spot but with her own watery eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

He hesitates. He nods once.

Her shoulders release some of their tension. "Okay. That's good. You remember me."

He shakes his head. Her hands tighten into fists. "You… You don't remember me? But you know who I am?"

He curls his knees up to his chin and wipes his eyes on the thin fabric covering them. He hears her breathing hitch.

"Who do you think I am?"

"No." He shakes his head. "That won't… That won't work."

"Peter?" Her voice is closer now and he finds her on her knees just an arms length away, her chin trembling as he refuses to meet her eye. "We don't know what they did to you, Peter, and I need… I need you, but I also need to know what's going on in your head right now. Please, Peter. Help me help you."

"This isn't real," he chants under his breath. "This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real -"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish it wasn't real but this is. You're really here with me."

Her hand hovers over his and he looks up to see something shine as she pulls it away. He straightens up, confused, and when he reaches forward she swallows a sob as his finger brushes over the skin of her arm. She lets him tug it towards him and there, sparkling on her left hand, is a ruby set into a gleaming gold band.

"Who's is…" He swallows thickly and tries again, unable to look away. "Did I…"

"Last year." She flips her hand to grasp gently at his, her tearful smile pulling his attention back to her face. "You're such a dork, but I forgave you for that one."

"I did this? You… We're getting married?" He's breathless with the tender look in her eye as she remembers what he cannot, tightening his grip on her so the stone presses into his skin. "We've never… We never made it that far before."

She cups his jaw and lowers her voice to a whisper. "Peter, please talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"We keep meeting each other. Over and over. We've lived a hundred lifetimes together. We've danced through the streets of Pompeii, inspired Shakespeare, fought monsters and destiny and the New York Public Transit System." He chuckles but his humour is eclipsed by the memories. She holds his hand ever tighter and, for just a moment, they breath together in the corner of the hospital room, basking in the feel of being together until he brings whatever shred of reality he can find crashing down.

"But whether it takes twenty minutes or twenty years, the same thing always happens - I remember. And every time I remember, I lose you in the worst possible ways. Over and over. And I can't do it anymore. I'm so tired. You always tell me to keep going, to keep trying, but what kind of an existence is this? I can't keep finding and loving and losing you through all of history. How is all of this pain really worth it?"

"Stop talking like that. This is real. _I'm_ real."

"No, you're not." He presses his lips to her forehead and holds her close, resigned to what's coming. "This is just what I want - getting married, starting a life with you, being happy with you. Thing is, I don't know what you want yet. We haven't talked about it. I keep chickening out and you're too stubborn to do it for me, even though I think - I hope - I know. This is just too perfect, so it can't possibly be -"

  
  


* * *

His drink is cold against his fingers but the bar is sticky with the humidity, and he wishes more than ever that he was able to turn down any of Ned's insane requests.

He lifts the glass and downs half the beverage in one go, picking up the second one and looking around for his best friend. People press against him from all sides. It's stifling and suffocating and all he wants is to go home.

Ned waves at him from the edge of the dancefloor and Peter begins making his way through the crowd, sweat already beginning to drip down his forehead. Neon lights roam over his skin and a deep base vibrates in his chest. He has to pause in his task of reaching Ned to finish his drink in the hopes it will cool him down.

"You made it!" Ned calls, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he tugs him towards the group he's found. "Ladies, meet Peter. Peter, this is -"

Something barrels into him, taking his straight down to the floor. Beer pours all over his face and across his chest and he pushes against the body holding him down, grunting in his effort., Finally, he frees one hand to wipes at his eyes, except he looks up and to see -

"Peter! Thank fuck I found you."

It's her. He's never seen her before but it's _her_.

"I found you," she mutters to herself, tightening her grip on his arms. "You're here, finally. Oh, Peter -"

"What are you doing? Get off me!"

He tries to pry her off but she's surprisingly strong, pinning him to the ground with relative ease. "No, Peter. I need you to listen to me."

"Why would I listen to you when you just tackled me?!"

"Because this isn't real!"

He freezes, staring up into her impossible eyes.

"I know." He frowns. "How do _you_ know that?"

She touches his cheek with a damp hand. "It's _me_. I'm here to save you, obviously."

"I don't -"

“Can I just say, this shit is not easy. I’m exhausted and I’ve only done about 4% of the actual work.” She scrunches up her nose. “Though I guess it’s easier when you have superpowers and a stupidly high tech suit. If anything, you’re cheating at this whole saving-the-day schtick.”

“Powers? What are you talking about?”

Shaking her head, she says, “Not important right now. We can debate later.”

She curls a fist into the dark fabric of his shirt and leans a little closer, her loose hair falling around their faces like a curtain.

"I need you to wake up, okay? We're trying to find a back door and when you see it, you have to take it." She looks distressed. He doesn't like seeing her distressed. "We can't manage it from our side so you have to do this bit yourself."

"I don't want to." He wraps his arms around her, trapping her against him. "Please, I'm tired."

"I know you are, but it's almost over. I promise."

A sob rips through his chest. "You always say that. You always say that and it's never true."

She presses forward and her lips brush his cheek, and he realises she's started to cry too, their tears mingling together. "You've been so brave. Just keep that up for a little longer until we're finished, okay? I'm gonna stay with you and we'll do it together."

"I want to believe you, I do… But I don't want to do this anymore. Just let me go."

"No, Peter, please, you can't go yet, I only just found you! Just hold on a little -"

* * *

It's the final class of the day when the note falls onto his desk. He looks up immediately for the culprit but everyone is focused resolutely on their pop quiz. The teacher is still dozing with his feet up on the desk. Everything is exactly as it should be, save for the crumpled up piece of paper on his desk.

He swipes it off the table top and into his lap, glancing around again before easing it open with an exaggerated cough to cover the rustling.

The handwriting is unfamiliar, a perfect cursive with a gentle lean to the right. The information is even stranger.

_If you want the answer you've been unable to find, meet me on the roof in five minutes._

He looks around again, stumped. There's half an hour left of the test. And he's not even struggling with it; why would he need an answer when he already knows them all?

Another note falls onto his desk, this time in scribbled handwriting he can barely translate.

_Go now or she dies._

He jumps out of his seat, dropping the note like it's burnt him.

Not a single person around him looks his way. In fact, they don't even move.

The teacher has stopped snoring. There's a kid halfway through a sneeze. Another is stuck sharpening his pencil. A third is watching the bird in midflight as it goes to pass by the window.

"Hello?" He taps the shoulder of the person in front. "Hello? Anyone?"

With increasing urgency, Peter makes his way through the rows of his peers, tapping and hitting and waving in front of their faces. Nobody moves. Nobody blinks.

"What's happening? Can anyone hear me?!"

A crash. A scream.

The creases of the paper dig into his palm as it tightens into a fist. He remembers the threat.

He runs.

The stairwell to the rooftop is only around the corner but he's torn between following instructions or the screams resonating against the lockers. On one hand, if he doesn't go to the roof, a girl is going to die. On the other hand, if he goes, the person screaming might.

He doesn't get much time to consider it. Before he can decide, heavy footfalls come from behind him and he turns to see someone dressed all in black about to slam right into him, his gym teacher right behind them with a blade that slices into the heavy fabric of the figure's arm.

"What -"

"No time, gotta go!" The person runs right past him and grabs his arm to drag him along, narrowly missing the next attempt that Coach Wilson makes on their life. Peter scrambles to keep up, tripping over his own feet with the force they drag him along with.

"The note, what did it say?!"

"What? What are you -"

"Damnit, Peter! The _note!_ Where are we going?"

"I don't even know who you are! What's happening?!"

"I'm an anomaly. Happy? I need to know what the note said!"

A blade slides across his skin and he cries out as blood begins to pour from the wound, tumbling into the person until they both collapse to the floor. He lifts himself up with his good arm to see a girl's face staring up at him in panic, her dark eyes fixed on something behind him.

It’s impossible. He’s never seen her before, and yet… He _knows_ her.

Has he had that thought before, too?

"Who are you?" he demands as panic begins to clamp down on his lungs.

"We don't have time for that!" 

Inexplicably, Peter's arm flies back of its own accord and knocks into Coach's gut, winding him. In another second the Coach is knocked out cold with his head buried in the broken plasterboard of the wall.

Peter looks down at his trembling hands. "How did I do that?"

The girl slips out from beneath him and drags him to his feet. "What are you not getting about the extreme time pressure right now?! The note!"

"Uh… The roof! It said to go to the roof!"

The girl keeps a firm grip of his wrist and together they run back the way they'd come, towards the stairwell, only to be blocked by Mr Harrington, who snarls and charges straight towards them.

"What the hell. What the hell?" Peter meets his momentum with a bone shattering punch to the nose. _"What the hell?!"_

"That was… We're _so_ talking about that later." The girl takes a deep breath and shakes her head, refocusing on the now clear path. "Come on, we only have a couple of minutes."

"No, no, I'm not going anywhere until you start talking." Peter rips himself free of her hold and pulls at his hair as he tries to figure out the last few minutes. "What is going on? Who are you? Why are my teachers attacking us?! I’m supposed to be finishing my Chemistry exam right now and instead the world is frozen and some girl I don’t know is -"

"Peter, I swear you are the most infuriating person I've ever met, if I weren't about to -"

"And why has my arm stopped bleeding?!"

"You _know_ why! Come on, Peter, you're stronger than this. Stop letting it fool you." She grabs his hands and pulls them into her chest, pleading with him with her eyes. "I will answer your questions but right now, we have to get to the roof. Please."

There's no rational reason for it, but something about her hair falling across her face makes him trust her. His hand rises from her chest and brushes it aside and she bites her lip against a soft smile.

He knows that smile. He feels _something_ for that smile.

"Okay. Lets go."

The pair make it up the stairwell without anyone on their tail, hands still linked as they run. He crashes through the door first and glances around, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but the only thing that doesn't belong is the girl behind him, pulling at a large forgotten plant pot to block the door.

"What now? There's nothing here!" He searches desperately around the space, looking high and low because he still has no idea what he's actually looking for.

The girl strolls confidently to the other side of the rooftop, looking over the edge. "Okay, so I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?"

He approaches her with uncertainty, trying to see what she sees without getting too close. "Does it really matter?"

She straightens up to give him a shrug. "Not really."

"So?" he prompts when she continues to stare.

"Good news: I got us to the back door, just like I promised." She presses her lips tightly together. "Bad news: the powers that be seem to have miscalculated slightly."

"Slightly?" Peter finally gets close enough to see what she's pointing to - something dark and rippling, like a tear in the fabric of reality, about twenty foot down. "What is that supposed to be?"

"The back door. That is how we save you." She looks over too and grimaces. "Shit, this is so not what I meant, guys."

But then she swings one leg over, followed swiftly by another.

"Stop! What are you doing?!" He runs to grab her arm, trying to pull her back. "You hate heights!"

She laughs. "Yeah, I do. But I'm more scared of losing you. So…" She pats the space beside her. "It's time to go home."

He looks helplessly between the girl he's never met and the impossibility she's about to dive into. "Why do I know that?"

"You know why," she says again. "And you know the truth about this place. So what are you waiting for?"

She grips the arm that holds her back and looks right into his soul. He breathes through the hot wave of tears that suddenly overwhelm him. "It's always a trick. What if this is just another one?"

She opens her mouth to answer but she's cut off by two things that happen almost perfectly in unison.

The first: Mr Harrington crashes through the blockade and onto the rooftop.

The second - Coach Wilson's blade lodges into the middle of her spine, altering her centre of gravity just enough that she tips over the edge.

"No!" he screams as he throws himself forwards to maintain his grip of her arm. His body spills after her and he just barely gets a grip with his other hand to stop them plummeting straight down. "No no no, _please!_ Talk to me! Please, don't be dead!"

She hangs over the mouth of the back door like a puppet on a single string. His grip begins to weaken.

"No, please, Em, I can't -"

"Peter you have to let me go," she says as blood paints her pale lips red, head hanging back, her life beginning to slip away. "Even if you don't believe me yet… If I die here, I die _there_. Let me go. I don't want to die."

"You'll die if I let go!"

"No, I won't. I'll just wake up." She cries out as she slips further towards the rippling mass, jostling the knife. "You will, too. I promise you, Peter. I don't know how to prove this isn't a trick, I just… You have to _believe_. Believe for ten seconds. We got the bad guy. It's over. I can… I can bring you home."

Her eyes begin to flutter closed, her hold of his arm loosening. Desperation claws at him but he doesn't know how to fix this - they're seconds away from certain death with no other way out but he can't help it; he's been tricked so many times he can't even believe what's right in front of his eyes.

"Peter, please." She opens her eyes and, somehow, finds enough strength to smile. "Take a leap of faith. Either we wake up together or we die together. What have you got to lose?"

He takes a deep breath. "You'll really be there?"

"Right beside you, I promise - or my name isn't -"

Peter lets go.

Together, they fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I lied. I’m so very sorry.  
> If you know, you know. I’m intrigued to see if there’s other fans lurking in this fandom.  
> Yell at me in the comments so we can cry together.
> 
> @mjonesing on Tumblr if you wanna talk sequels.


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